Recollections Of The Northern Front
by cuffchri
Summary: The Northern Front, unknown to most Americans, is the opening of a second front by the Soviet Union in North America, attempting to secure its flank from any counterattacks. Read the stories of the men and women who took part in defending their homeland.
1. Prologue: Invasion of Seattle

Prologue: Invasion of Seattle

Captain Henry Timmins enjoys his morning coffee with the rest of his air wing, waiting for his designated patrol time in a few hours. His fellow co-pilots sit with him, some just coming back from their sorties, others preparing to head out.

"Seriously, why do we do this? The Americans are covering our asses, why bother even patrolling for Soviet subs?" One of the pilots, just walking into the officer's mess, grumbles after an overnight patrol.

"Hey, Japanese subs took pot shots on North America back during the Second World War" Henry replies, not really understanding why either, considering American naval superiority, on top of Soviet naval incompetence.

"Yeah yeah…" The pilot who just returned, designated to a CP-140 Aurora anti-submarine aircraft, grumbles as he heads for the coffee machine.

"When are we going up, sir?" Hawkeye, or Lieutenant Peter Marino, is curious to their next sortie, rather excited to take an aerial tour of Vancouver from his CF-18 Hornet. The other wingman, Lieutenant Victoria Lynn, or Heartbreak (a callsign she takes pride in, to be sure) nods with Peter, wanting to get her feet off this rather quiet base.

"0700 hours." After answering, he finishes his coffee, wiping his chin with his napkin in case of any overflow. His head turns outside to look at the base outside, CFB Comox, and witnesses the emptiness. Ever since the start of the war, the Department of Defense has been basically shipping this entire base to Britain, and now they're the only three CF-18s left on the west coast, supporting 5 CH-149 Cormorant SAR (search and rescue) helicopters, 2 CC-115 Buffalo SAR aircraft, and 14 CP-140 Auroras. Even most of the navy has been sent to the east coast, patrolling for submarines trying to hit REFORGER convoys leaving Boston and Halifax.

Time flies, and soon enough, all three pilots leave for their aircraft, already fueled and armed for a non-existent threat. Henry climbs into his CF-18, with Heartbreak taking his left flank, and Hawkeye taking the aircraft on his right. After going through the safety checks and warm up, they all slowly wheel towards the main runway.

"Redcoat, this is CFB Comox Tower, you are cleared for takeoff"

"Tower, this is Redcoat, see you soon." The single jet engine warms up, with the wingmen to the left and right of him on the large runway, and in an instant, all three speed along the runway, taking off near the end.

"Beautiful takeoff Redcoat, see you in a few hours." Redcoat, or Henry, confirms the tower, and speeds south towards Vancouver, hoping to maybe give some civilians a rude awakening.

An hour passes, and after an uneventful flight over the picturesque British Columbian countryside, the edges of Vancouver's northern suburbs come into view.

"We're here, you guys. So…now what?" Heartbreak grumbles, rather wishing she was picked to be sent off to the United Kingdom like the rest of her squad mates.

"We patrol and then head back home." Redcoat answers, looking around to make sure his wingmen are still following him. Well, at least they're not trying to fly towards the Soviet Union. That's a relief at least.

"Seriously, why bother? The Soviets need to break through Hawaii first, and we all know the Soviet surface fleet is in horrible shape."

"Yeah yeah…wait, hold on we're getting a message on an emergency frequency." Redcoat puts the message through to his wing mates as well, even if it's probably just some US F-15 with engine troubles.

"This is the Washington Army National Guard post at Seattle! We're under attack from unknown Soviet forces! *Static* Requesting any and all assistance!"

All three of their faces were filled with shock, and Hawkeye interrupts the broadcast. "Holy fuck, is this real?" Without answering, Redcoat puts the emergency message back onto their radio frequency.

"…Massive invasion occurring through freighters. I repeat! Enemy forces deploying through disguised merchant ships! Can't hold docks! Requesting any air support!"

"What do we do, sir?" Heartbreak asks her commanding officer, and for a second, receives no reply, but…only for a second.

"We help them, and we kill as many of those bastards as we can." Henry growls, and his fellow pilots confirm.

The three pilots accelerate to Mach 1.8, pushing their aircrafts to their limits as they move south to assist their NORAD ally. Within a few minutes, they cross US-Canada border, moving as fast as they can to Seattle Harbor.

"Over the clouds!" Redcoat calls out, pulling his aircraft up to make sure no Soviet aircraft make a surprise attack. However, the skies are seemingly clear of any MiGs, but rather Soviet transport aircraft, and one very noticeable AWAC aircraft that is over the city.

"This fucker is mine, you two take out as many container ships as you can!"

"Roger that, good luck Redcoat." Both of his wingmen go through the clouds, hunting for ground targets, and providing support, while Redcoat sets his sight for the large white AWAC, knowing it needs to go down.

Slowing down, he moves his CF-18 perpendicular to the AWAC. The Soviet aircraft as no chance to move away as the Hornet fires its single Vulcan cannon. The 20mm rounds pierce through the paper thin armor of the enemy, watching as the aircraft becomes a giant fireball descending upon the city below. As it breaks through the clouds, Redcoat follows it down, watching his prey fall apart. The AWAC shatters as it slams into a highway overpass, its scattered remains resting upon a railway track near a large stadium.

"Hey, isn't that the King Dome?" Redcoat asks, and Hawkeye responds quickly.

"The one along the docks? Yeah! I've even been there a few times for a game."

Heartbreak dives down towards a freighter moving towards one of the piers, at a 30 degree angle. The aircraft quickly launches a series of rockets into its side, ripping through the thick hull of the cargo ship. The ship lists to its side, flipping over much faster than anybody expected, and it begins to sink, hopefully with all hands aboard.

"See you in hell you Commie coward." Heartbreak mutters over the radio, her voice lacking any emotion or sympathy.

"To allied aircraft overhead, identify yourselves?" A near panicked voice calls over the radio, different from the one that sent out the emergency broadcast.

"This is Captain Henry Timmins of the Canadian Forces, callsign Redcoat. You are?"

"This is Captain Bannon on the United States Army…what the hell are you seeing up there!" His voice is filled with anxiety and fear….a rookie maybe? Redcoat shrugs as he keeps hunting the skies, taking aim upon a paratrooper aircraft.

"We're seeing large numbers of Soviet ships, mostly merchant ships, unloading at the docks, while I have no idea where these aircraft are coming from."

"Provide any support if you can!" The radio cuts with static and the three pilots begin reengaging.

Redcoat flies high above any anti-aircraft artillery's reach, seeing that a scout helicopter gets ripped to shreds as it approaches the docks. Redcoat moves down, diving upon the major marshalling point of a Soviet armor force, and his entire rocket reserve, along with a M82 500 pound bomb releases upon the Soviets, and tanks start to explode like firecrackers.

As the battle continues for hours, the three pilots continue to ravage whatever Commie they can set their sights on, with Heartbreak the most reckless, accounting for the most damage and kills out of all of them.

It's almost noon hour, and the aircraft is just about to hit bingo fuel. "Shit….you guys, we're going to have to head back." Heartbreak grumbles, her bloodlust still not satisfied, no matter how many kills she gets, while Hawkeye seems to be ready to head back home.

"Holy shit…" Hawkeye calls out, as he watches what looks like some Soviet artillery barrage tear the King Dome apart. All three pilots watch as the green stadium slowly collapses, disappearing into a giant pile of rubble.

"Alright, you guys, let's head home." Redcoat tells them softly, rather disappointed his fuel isn't lasting any longer. "We're no good here anymore, but we did the best we can, maybe we saved a few lives down there."

"To any American aircraft needing safe haven, follow us north towards Vancouver International or, if you have the fuel, our base at CFB Comox. Seattle is lost, but we're going to need as much support as humanly possible for what's to come."


	2. Chapter 1: The Battle of the Line

Chapter 2: The Battle of the Line

Blaine, Washington, USA

Captain Charlie Zhang, a Vancouver native, rolls his Leopard C2 tank force across the US-Canada border, the ground shaking as the heavy weight of Canada's main battle tank, heading south on Interstate 5. Civilians rush north, either by vehicle or even by foot, past the Peace Arch that is on the border.

"You know, I never thought I'd be going into the United States with a tank." One of his tank commanders remarks on the radio, with others agreeing. Two bulldozers push away abandoned cars and litter out of the tanks' way, not needing to have some treads get damaged crushing a car.

Three CF-18As fly overhead, staying close to the surface as they head south, at the same time, four very, very beautiful A-10 Warthogs follow behind, slower, and lower than the Hornets, but at least they look intimidating.

As the sortie disappears into the horizon, helicopters begin flying back and forth from the town, over the border, and back, picking up civilians unable to evacuate themselves. A Huey helicopter, something they must have pulled out of a local museum, takes off from Whatcom Community College, flying north back across the border.

"Fuck, they're pulling everything out for this, aren't they? What's next? We're going to recreate the intro to _Apocalypse Now_ with 25 year old museum pieces?" Zhang rhetorically asks his commanders, only to get half of his tank crews humming and Da Da Daing _Ride of the Valkyries _from the beginning attack on the town.

"Oh shut the fuck up, all of you!" Zhang yells at his crews, including the ones in his own tank. "That includes you Conrad!" After a while, everybody, including Charlie, starts laughing from the image in his head…though reality kicks in, and the movie playing in his mind suddenly falls apart when he imagines Hinds strafing his home along Vancouver's suburbs.

Numerous and large explosions rip across the horizon, and all seven aircraft return safely back across the border. "Captain Zhang? This is Redcoat, or acting Major Timmins of the White Knight Squadron, based out of CFB Comox, they're not that far out, we might be able to get another sortie out to tear a few more holes into them, but after that, you'll be under heavy attack. I have five F-15s in the air covering your ass from any Hinds or enemy tactical support. If you see artillery, call it in, I'll take care of it personally. Redcoat out."

"Thank you Major Timmins, good luck up there." Spoiled air force assholes. Pussies get to fly away when they're in trouble.

Zhang sighs, looking around this soon to be fortress. He, and the US Captain, Captain Peterson, begins positioning their tanks in and around Blaine Schools Campus, or the tract of land with the elementary, middle, and the high school. US and Canadian infantry garrison all of the school buildings, as well as any structure made out of brick or concrete, while the tanks dig in and use whatever cover they can find, to hopefully get the first, and most likely deadly first shot upon the enemy. Zhang's 22 Leopard C2 tanks, as well as 12 Cougar AVGP, as well as four ADATS (Anti-Defense, Anti-Tank System) meet up with Peterson's 14 M1A2 Abrams, 8 M2 Bradley, and one M88 Recovery Vehicle. An assortment of Humvees and M113 APCs move around in the background, either helping evacuate civilians, or moving military personnel from location to location.

"Alright, remember, take out any tanks with two antennae, those are commanders' tanks. Understood?" Zhang barks out, and his subordinates acknowledge. "Yes sir!"

The seven aircraft fly overhead once more, but this time the explosions are much closer than they were only a few minutes before. "Shit…they're almost on top of us…" Zhang grumbles, a bit worried for the tanks under his command, but…they're all competent crews, at least they were the best crews the Canadian government could get into British Columbia in a few days.

Zhang whispers a short prayer in his mother tongue. His grandparents and parents were able to get out of China before the Japanese Invasion through the help of Canadian missionaries, and even though he still speaks Chinese, he'll always be Canadian.

As he finishes praying, three of the Eagles swoop down and launch Air-to-Air missiles at incoming Mi-24 Hinds, turning six of them into molten fireballs, crashing into empty suburban homes. One of the Mi-24s escapes the Eagle barrage, launching its rockets at a Bradley, turning it into a burning wreck. The machine gunner on Zhang's tank, as well as a number of the others, starts using their anti-infantry weapons against the surviving Hind, to no avail.

"Shit shit, he's looking right at us!" Zhang kicks the tank driver, knowing that even if they don't all die instantly, the tank would be useless in the true battle to come. Luckily for Zhang, one of the infantry on the roof of the high school launches a Stinger at the enemy Hind, the back rotor falls apart, and the helicopter quickly loses altitude.

"That was close…" Zhang breathes a sigh of relief. His tank crew also does the same, some choking from holding in their breath so long.

"Here they come…" Peterson calls out, him being the tank closest to highway 543, seeing the first outlines of T-80s and T-72 Soviet tanks, too many to count. "All tanks, coordinate with your peers and make every shot count."

Soon enough, the Abrams and Leopard tanks begin working with each other, picking out their targets out of the many available. Tanks were their priorities; anything else will be taken out by the infantry. After five seconds, the volleys of 9 Abrams and 3 Leopard fire their rounds, getting ten kills, with one impacting a disabled city bus, and the other tears a hole into a ranch style home's living room.

The rest of the tanks fire their rounds, including Zhang's, and most hit their mark, but there are too many behind them. "Shit…we need to fall back. Alright you guys, move back to G Street…"

"Is that the real name sir?" One of his tanks asks him, and Zhang confirms.

"Yeah, G Street. Move back after firing your second volley!"

Zhang looks though the tank's scope, looking ahead, and finding a tank with two antennae. "Commander's tank, 1 o'clock!"

"Got him, sir! Firing!" The gunner responds, and the recoil of the 120mm gun shakes the chassis of the tank. "That's a kill!"

Without needing to get ordered back, the driver reverses the tank, moving backwards, squeezing between the elementary and middle schools. After a while, the Soviets start returning fire, but thankfully the older T-72s don't have any stabilizers and have a hard time while moving. One of the shells fly over Zhang's tank, exploding into the third storey of the local community centre. Of course, not everybody was so lucky, and some of the T-80s are able to knock out 2 Abrams and 1 Leopard.

The M88 hooks itself onto the disabled Abrams, with a medic tending to the surviving commander and the gunner, rushing them both into an APC to bring them north of the border. Slowly but surely, the tow truck on the tank chassis pulls the tank as fast as it can into cover, using the side streets to make it across.

The last tanks make their way past the schools, the remaining infantry, Canadian Special Forces, start hooking the buildings' natural gas heaters, as well as its kitchens, with C4 plastic explosive. They rush out and quickly run into cover, behind the burning community center. As the last of our tanks pull away, the Soviets move ahead, proud of routing the imperial capitalist pigdogs, or whatever the Soviet propaganda machine is calling NATO lately, moving past 7 destroyed Leopard, 3 Abrams, 2 Bradleys, 1 ADATs, and 4 Cougars, all burning husks of their former, proud selves. Of course, the battle isn't over yet. As the first Soviet tanks, the infamous T-80s, drive in between the three schools, the Special Forces unit detonates its C4, the propane and natural gas tanks explode into giant fireballs, consuming the structures, as well and its local surroundings, including three T-80s, and two Soviet infantry carriers.

"Fuck yeah!" Zhang screams in excitement, watching the three fireballs consume hopefully some enemy forces. The tanks fire randomly over the burning ruins on what used to be single family homes. His tank keeps moving back, crushing swings and BBQs, even driving through the wooden frames of homes to keep moving back. The roofs collapse upon Zhang's tank, creating a camouflage of sorts…

"We're at the fucking border sir!" Half of Zhang's tanks are gone, with Peterson not doing much better.

"Zhang, this is Peterson, we need to fall back, there are too many of them and not enough of us. The M88 is working overtime to pull as many of our tanks out, as well as some of the APCs!"

Zhang grumbles, before Redcoat returns. "Captain Zhang and Peterson, get across the border and move towards Vancouver, we're going to make sure none of these bastards get across, not for a while."

Redcoat, and his squadron engages as many enemy tanks as he can, taking out a good number of the enemy. "Alright, get your asses back as far north as possible, we have a surprise for them. Call it an early Christmas present for the fuckers." Redcoat pulls away, and his squadron follows suit, the CF-18s flying high, while the A-10s stick to the ground.

"You heard him. This is Captain Zhang, I'm ordering a general retreat of all forces from Blaine, Washington, at 4:57 PM. As of this moment, the Soviet Union is now invading the Dominion of Canada. May God have mercy on us all."

Zhang, pulls away, driving as fast as he can across of the border. He watches as every surviving infantry and vehicle cross the border, with the Soviet tanks awaiting slowly reorganizing and moving north to chase them.

Thankfully, the various jet fighters weren't the only ones to make it across the border into relative safety of Canada. Four of the Eagles, from before, along with five B-52s, fly in formation heading south from CFB Comox. Zhang pulls onto a small hill, small, but high enough to look at the battle scarred city in front of him. Peterson follows him up, as the five B-52s begin raining down their bomb droplets onto the city below, the bombers at an equal distance enough to cause the maximum damage and destruction upon the town. The five aircraft lay waste upon the city, and everything inside.

The two captains watch as they see nothing but ruins and partially intact structures left, and seemingly nothing left of the Soviet force….but, that was just the first wave, and on the horizon, another wave of Soviet armor is speeding its way north.

"Oh fuck…we're going to need reinforcements."

"Or a miracle."


	3. Chapter 2: Rescue at Port Townsend

Chapter 2: Rescue at Port Townsend

Port Townsend, Washington

Canadian Special Forces leader Kevin O'Connor, and his four fellow team members ride upon a yellow Seaking helicopter, soaring over Tsawwassen-Swartz Bay. Airlifted from a strip mall parking lot near the Canadian-US border, they fly towards CFB Esquimalt, Canada's main Pacific naval base located on Vancouver Island. Even though the island is in viewing distance of Seattle, the Soviets didn't want to try their luck on taking both Vancouver Island and Seattle, plus their initial landing force wasn't powerful enough.

The Sea King finally spots land, specifically the city of Victoria, on the southernmost tip of the island, as well as the city that is closest to the naval base. Both the Auroras from CFB Comox, as well as the HMCS Vancouver and HMCS Regina, two of the most modern Canadian destroyers, launched during the war (even though their construction started beforehand) and numerous other older anti-submarine vessels patrol around Victoria and Vancouver island, hunting for any Soviet submarines. Two have already been sunk, and since then, the island's coastline has been a no-go zone for Soviet subs.

However, anything even a few feet into deeper waters is no-go zones for anything not Soviet, including civilian ships. Civilians trying to escape in deep water fishing ships and some larger ferries have been sunk by torpedoes, with these helicopters, as well as some commandeered speed boats had to help rescue them. So far, the Canadian Navy counted 6 civilian ships sunk, with maybe 800 people rescued out of who many were on there.

"Sheesh…I don't think I see a car moving down there…" Second Lieutenant Michael Hansen observes somberly as he looks down from the helicopter. O'Connor's second in command, he holds his MP5 submachine gun, pointing down to the city below.

The helicopter keeps flying, speeding past the abandoned city below. Victoria itself was evacuated right after the invasion of Seattle, and most reside on the northern parts of the island, specifically around CFB Comox, where so far the largest Canadian refugee camp has been established. Only some stubborn citizens, as well as some of the most critical civilians still stay.

"I heard, my sister's been using the abandon city as a giant inspiration for her paintings." Warrant Officer Larry Grant, the communications expert, looks down as well, wondering how safe it really is for her to be down there.

"She has some balls, man" Another Warrant Officer, Claude Beauchamp, a French Canadian, stays far away from looking out of the helicopter. The medic, as well as the explosive expert on the team, has a slight fear of flying. Not serious enough to be a hamper on the ride, but not a fan of the window seats of airlines.

The city itself experienced some shelling during the invasion, and here and there a Soviet artillery piece fires upon the city, but of course, surviving US and Canadian artillery fire back, using satellites to coordinate where the shot came from. So far, the shelling has been very infrequent lately ever since our artillery has been set up.

Sergeant Matthew Keller pats O'Connor's shoulder, speaking into the headset that they're all wearing. "We're landing, brace yourselves you guys." Keller is the team's heavy weapon specialist

The helicopter descends upon a paved helipad at the naval base. The team hops out once the rotor slows down, keeping their heads low just out of safety. One of the base's officers is waiting for them as they land, leading them towards the base's main offices. Soldiers and seamen say nothing to the awaiting officer, since they're still unclear why they're here.

After a few minutes of wandering through corridors and hallways, they slip into the MARPAC's central office without, hopefully, anybody noticing. Maritime Forces Pacific is the Canadian central command for Canada's Pacific operations, and as such, the highest ranking member on the base. "Good day soldiers, as you can guess, you're on loan to us from the army."

They all salute him, and then sit down, after being told to be at ease. They look around at the rather large office, seeing a map of the region located on his desk. "You're here for a mission to hopefully piss off the Soviets. It won't do much, except boost morale and gain a few more bodies to defend Vancouver with."

Quickly, he places his finger upon a small American coastal town known as Port Townsend. "This is the objective. Within this community is seemingly a large POW camp, located seemingly within the town's high school, considering the different fields are holding pens, at least that's what the satellite imagery is showing." He takes a pause, looking out the window onto the base below.

"As we know, soldiers captured during the Invasion of Seattle, as well as any following engagements, plus civilian resistance fighters and local community leaders have been sent to this facility. Knowing the Soviet tendency to keep things centralized, we believe that this is the largest facility within the Occupied United States."

"So what do you want us to do sir?" O'Connor asks coldly, while the rest of his stare at the map and the surrounding terrain.

"We're sending you there using a captured Soviet speedboat salvaged from one of the container ships we've been sinking lately. I'm sure you've heard about our operation, correct?"

"Yes sir, we have."

The Soviet navy has been continuing to supply its American occupation force using merchant ships. Using their beachhead, they land at Seattle Harbor, and due to the heavy submarine presence in the waters between Vancouver Island and Washington, we can't bring anything with decent range to destroy them. As long as they hug the occupied American coastline, they're safe. Of course, there are times where we fool them into approaching Vancouver Island…

The Canadians, taking a page out of the Soviet playbook, broadcast coordinates on Soviet frequencies, which have made some merchant ships go off course and head towards Barkley Sound, as well as the USS Missouri have been hiding away from the Soviet air force. Whenever merchant ships are using approaching the United States under the cover of darkness, the false radio messages make Soviet vessels turn too early into approaching Vancouver Island. The USS Missouri uses its sixteen inch guns to complete the trap, and so far, four merchant ships from the Soviet Union have been sunk, possibly one out of every four spotted travelling towards Seattle.

"Brilliant tactics, if I say so myself, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." The Admiral smiles at his little spark of brilliance, thankful at its success. "Alright, anyway, we need to get as many of those men…and women, out, and the more we can bring here, the better."

The Admiral and commander of Canada's Pacific operations points to the town's southern docks, where a medium sized ship is docked. "And this is how you get them out. Right here is a docked Soviet merchant freighter, awaiting clearance to head back home. Highjack it, and make the captain bring you into Victoria Bay.

"Sir, we're going to get sunk by our own forces if we take one of their ships…"

"We planned for that and we won't be sending any sorties out tonight."

"So we leave when, sir?"

The Admiral smiles as he observes the five younger men looking proud. "Dusk, we don't want any Soviet bastard seeing you arriving during the day. If I say so myself, land here." The Admiral places his finger upon a farm along the coast. "The fields should provide some cover. Use the nighttime to cover your movements, and hopefully the town's residents will give you some cover as you approach."

* * *

Dusk comes at 8:32 PM, and the speedboat leaves under the cover of darkness, speeding southeast towards Port Townsend. All five men are hanging low upon the ship, hiding anything that might look military to the casual observer, including their weapons and vests. The boat almost glides along the water, not being heavy enough to create a wake that would be spotted by a submarine.

Another hour passes before O'Connor spots the coast, seeing no dots of light that might indicate flashlights of Soviet soldiers. However, the lights of the farmhouse are illuminated…

"Sir, should we clear out the farmhouse first? Maybe they'll like this to get to Canada with…" Beauchamp suggests, looking at the dim outlines of the house.

"Or kill a few commies that are using it to relax." Keller spits into the ocean, angered by the chain of events that brought them here.

"We'll check the house, and what happens, we'll deal with it then." O'Connor calmly states. "Check your weapons you guys, we'll be landing soon. Don't leave anything behind."

After a few minutes, they cut the engine of their craft, letting the ship slowly drift closer to the coast. As they hit a sand bar, their speedboat stall, and one by one they jump out, their rifles over their heads as they rush to shore.

The farmhouse lies barely a few feet from their position, and all five men stealthily sprint through the fields, moving towards the back door of the large, gray structure. Their movements are low, but quick, making sure they stay below the ripening grain.

O'Connor arrives first, looking through the window of the back door for any activity. The others surround the structure, using small steel mirrors to look inside windows. After their very short recon, they bring themselves back into the field, a little distance away. "Anybody see anything?"

Hansen nods, his body flowing with adrenaline. "Yeah, a bunch of armed men…not in uniform though. Resistance?"

O'Connor ponders, and nods slowly. "Let's find out..."

He rips the Canadian flag off of his uniform, holding onto it tightly as they all make their way to the window Hansen came from. Keller, Beauchamp, and Grant cover their backs, making sure this isn't an ambush. At worst, they go out killing as many Soviets as possible.

As O'Connor arrives at the window, he knocks on it twice, before pressing the Canadian flag rather hard against the glass. The partisans inside, naturally suspicious, spread out around the house. Only two remain in their conference room, and, of course, Hansen is waiting with his sub machinegun in case things go wrong .

"If you're really an ally…what year did they go back to in _Back to the Future_?" The teenage looking male, with a pistol aimed for O'Connor's head.

"1955! I love that movie!" Beauchamp states excitedly, looking at the teenager. The young man holsters his weapon, and sticks his head outside. "Go to the back door."

The team nods, and slowly makes it away to the back, the door already open for them. They relax a bit as they enter the house. The resistance squad returns back to the living room, all of them armed…mostly with Soviet weaponry, like AK-74s.

"Why are you here?" An older man asks, one of the few carrying an American weapon, specifically an old M1 Garand rifle.

"We're here to liberate the POW camp, and to get back to Vancouver Island." O'Connor looks coldly at the man who asks the question.

"Alright…need any help?" All of the members on the Spec Ops are taken aback by the sheer willingness of these men and women, but, then again, maybe they shouldn't be. This is their home.

"Well…make a distraction somewhere. Away from the high school. Get them to divert their forces away. Don't put yourself at risk either, use explosives if you can."

They nod, maybe because they have a target already… "Yes sir, we'll strike at the radio transmitter here. Use explosives, and ambush whoever comes. That should get everybody away."

"Good. Do you have a radio?" Grant asks quietly, looking through his bag for a spare radio, knowing they probably won't need it too severely.

"Not with any military frequencies programmed in. " Another male, this one in a torn uniform…retail uniform, anyway. "I mean, we have a few captured Russian ones…but yeah."

Grant hands one of the spare radios, a short range one that won't compromise any other military units on our frequency. "Who is the leader here, anyway?"

An older, rugged looking man steps through the group, carrying an M-16A1 assault rifle. The man seems to be a veteran, though of what war none of the Canadians can be too sure. He extends his hand out, and O'Connor shakes it.

"I fought with some of your daddies in Korea, I bet, you guys have a legacy to live up to."

They nod, and in time, after discussing timing and strategy, as well as the EVAC plan, everybody slowly makes their way to their targets. The Resistance cell picked out a few distractions and diversions…and ambushes for the Soviets to deal with.

The Canadian Special Forces team slowly travels through parks and back yards, avoiding any Soviet patrols through the neighborhood. It takes almost an hour of crawling and sneaking around, before they arrive at a marked off Resistance safe house, just before the first Soviet roadblock that leads to the school. The roads that line the perimeter of the school, as well as any houses, have been commandeered by the Soviet military, as a kill zone for anybody approaching…

"Alright, C Team is in position."

The first Resistance squad takes positions around a large gas station and car dealership complex, which has been converted as a refueling and vehicle depot. Soviet light and medium vehicles, with a few T-55s reside in the parking lot, with one BTR-80, and two BMP-3s are fueling up at the pumps. The Soviet soldiers on the site seem to be…relaxed. Even the guards in the towers are rather content, seemingly secured with the fact that they're safe. Most of the lights ignore the surrounding rooftops and surrounding commercial buildings, ones that were taken away from the oppressive "bourgeois" and given to the "proletariat", or rather, taken away from the small business owners, and given to the Soviet military personnel. The soldiers enjoy their spoils of war…toys and electronics never even conceived about at homes. Cassette and CD players, Dustbusters, microwaves, and whatever else wasn't nailed down.

Their comforts from their spoils make them numb to the threats around them, the threat that killed the soldiers that were stationed at the surrounding roadblocks and observation posts. All killed by the Resistance members, silently, and without any radio call ever made to warn of what's to come.

"Okay, get the RPG-7 ready, target the fueling BTR." A younger, short haired blonde woman tells an older, more rugged man. The launcher goes over his shoulder, his eyes looking through the target, aiming it at the soldier in between the pump and the vehicle. In surrounding buildings, other Resistance members prepare their weaponry. Most holding captured Soviet weaponry, but others using equipment abandoned by retreating American forces, or acquired from Resistance drops by sorties of American and Canadian aircraft, and some others are using homemade equipment. They all take aim at different targets.

"Is everybody ready?" The blonde woman whispers into her radio, a small walkie talkie. A series of yes and ayes come back, and the entire team is ready. She pulls out the radio one of the Canadians gave the team, saying one statement.

"Team F is ready."

On one of the hills that lace the town's western border, another team, much smaller, uses some of the airdropped C4 on the radio transmitter located on the roof of the city's former local radio station. The station has been long commandeered by the Soviets, and the music and local news that used to be broadcasted now spouts Soviet propaganda and folk tunes, to the annoyance of the former residents.

The lights are on inside, and the thick concrete walls of the building hide the activity going on outside. Once the C4 is prepared, the eight Resistance members, including the rugged veteran from before, position the homemade pipe bombs within the bushes that are around the main and emergency exits. The team slips onto a higher up hill, looking down upon the station.

The war veteran uses his military radio to tell the rest of the operation. "Team R is ready."

The last team takes position near the docked cargo freighter, using some abandoned waterfront restaurants and stores to prepare themselves. They lace around on the outer edges of the Soviet controlled waterfront…but most of these businesses have been abandoned anyway. Not many people enjoy seeing Soviet ships bringing more Soviet equipment and soldiers into their country…that's if there was enough food being rationed out for restaurants to operate anyway.

This squad, led by a middle aged boater who was also a member of the United States Coast Guard…and escaped without being rounded up into one of the POW camps. His ship was sunk by the Soviets for the 50cal machine gun that was located on the front, used to stop drug runners. The man looks out at the cargo ship, knowing he should be somewhat familiar from his training back when he started in the Coast Guard…but…he never has been in a Russian ship.

Holding his MP5 submachine gun he salvaged from the Coast Guard dock, before it was captured, he looks out at a smoking Soviet seaman, probably pissed that he got night watch. A few others stand around him, speaking in Russian and carrying their AK-74s over their shoulders. Of course, those men should be watching the perimeter…but like the guards at the depot, they've become too relaxed in their occupied territory.

"Team S is ready."

"Alright, this is Team C. Team R, deliver the gift in 10…8…" O'Connor starts a countdown, looking at his men as they listen in. The war veteran readies the remote triggers of the C4, while the rest of the team readies the triggers for the pipe bombs. Each of the pipe bomb teams watches their respective doors, waiting for somebody to exit them after the blast.

"3…2…1…NOW!"

The C4 goes first, and the small blasts tear the metal frame of the transmitter. The screeching of metal irritates the ears of all, as the tower slowly crashes upon the side of the building, bending and breaking to fit the landscape.

The Soviet personnel inside, undamaged by the C4 blasts, rush outside to the deaths, as the other Resistance members detonate the pipe bombs. The homemade explosives launch hundreds of nails and shrapnel in all directions, slicing and killing all those foolish enough to go outside. The moans of the dying are quickly extinguished as the eight man team executes anybody still alive, or who didn't run inside. In all, twelve Soviets were killed in the first run.

The team moves along the back side of the hill, making their escape and taking the slow way back to down. The old veteran, his hands covered in blood, call out. "Team R has completed its mission, moving to extraction point."

On cue, Team F begins its attack, and 12 separate rockets, as well as a mortar wave, hits the depot. The blonde's strike hits directly on target, and the fuel pumps explode in a brilliant flash consuming the fueling vehicles, the pumps, and anybody close by. Other rockets hit all six perimeter towers, turning them into flaming beacons for all to see in the city.

Nothing is spared. All of the T-55s are disabled, as well as any recovery vehicle in the depot. The car dealership itself is brought to ruin, as the mortars and rockets break through its weak points, turning anything inside into Swiss cheese. After the shock of the initial attack, surviving Soviet infantry return fire in all directions, trying to follow the trails of the rockets to kill whoever attacked them. The chaos and the night aids the Resistance greatly, but three of their men are killed in their escape.

"Team F has completed its mission, beginning to move towards extraction."

The Canadians, watching vigilantly over the high school, observes the rush of the Soviet soldiers making their way across the city towards the depot in whatever vehicles they have access to. Beauchamp smirks at the sight below, wondering if the entire complex is being emptied.

After the nose settles, and the buildings empty, the Canadians move quietly towards the structure, moving towards the gym that lies disconnected from the rest of the school complex. The five man team slowly moves into the structure through a side entrance, void of any guards.

They stay close to the walls as they enter the administrative facility of the gym, probably the head gym's teacher office. A few store rooms are also located here; separate from the actual courts themselves. Their weapons readied for any action, they look in every single room as quickly as they can, trying to get whatever Intel available.

The two large steel doors in front of them lead to the actual courts, and the five men prepare to go through. They check under the slits of the door for any signs of activity, but it seems that even here, the guards have mostly emptied.

"Beauchamp, go back into the boiler room and set some C4. I don't want this building standing once we're done here."

He nods and leaves the group, leaving the other four men ready to go through. O'Connor nods at his fellow men, and after a count of three, the men move in.

The entire gymnasium is filled with hastily built pens, holding seemingly hundreds of people. The noise of the door opening attracts the prisoners' attention, and they see something none of them ever expected. As the Canadians clear the room and secure it, they begin to break the locks of the pens with the butts of their guns. One by one, the doors of the 18 pens within the structure are open, and the prisoners escape into freedom for the first time ever since their capture.

The Canadians make sure they all stay quiet, knowing the other two structures probably still have personnel inside. Grant leads some of the soldiers, the actual captured US and Canadian soldiers back into the administrative section of the gym. He leads them to the small, but substantial armory, letting them take the Russian equipment that lies inside.

As the team groups back up near the side door that they entered from, with the hundreds of newly freed prisoners following them. The soldiers who are actually armed meet up with the Canadians, awaiting commands.

"Alright soldiers, I want you to make groups of 10-15 non armed POWs, and I want you to lead them to the string of houses there. Resistance guides and civilians are ready to lead you to the extraction point. Stick to the shadows, and avoid Soviet engagement. We're here to rescue you, not have you killed."

"Yes sir!" The men state clearly and audibly, even those who are of higher rank compared to O'Connor. They make groups as the Canadians leave them to their organization, hoping the soldiers they just gave control to are somewhat competent. As they prepare to leave, a Lieutenant tells them something critical.

"Sir, the main school building has no prisoners, but over there is where they keep high ranking POWs and recently captured pilots. There might be a half dozen men in there, probably getting tortured half to death…do what you can for them."

O'Connor nods as Beauchamp regroups with them. As they are ready to move out, the first group of POWs moves towards the row of houses, keeping to the shadows and avoiding patrols. The Canadian Special Forces team move towards the main school building, slipping in through a maintenance door. They stay close as they move through the darkness, looking for the structure's boiler room.

A few minutes of searching through the tight corridors, they arrive outside the door. Opening the door, they reveal a Soviet engineer fiddling with one of the hot water pipes, unaware. Instantly O'Connor grabs him, ripping his personal radio off before he can make any sort of transmission. The engineer, caught off guard, raises his hands to surrender.

"Well…what do we do with him, sir?" Beauchamp asks, and Keller has a quick answer.

"Kill him." Keller spits on the floor, and the engineer cringes at the thought.

O'Connor, thinking, asks the man a question. "You speak English?" He nods nervously, wondering if he's sealing his fate, or saving himself.

"Good, you'll come into use. Grant, keep an eye on him while Beauchamp sets the explosives." The man sighs in relief, before being roughly shoved onto the ground by Keller, letting Grant keep the nozzle of his rifle pressed against the man's skull. A few moments pass as the explosives are deployed, and the team, and their POW, moves back towards the gym to hand their prisoner off.

"Soldier, keep an eye on him, and keep him alive, understood?" He nods in return, but his…new task annoys him greatly, wishing he could get revenge for the lives of the countrymen lost in the invasion.

The team, satisfied, moves towards the last structure, a series of classrooms that were added on after the completion of the initial construction. Encountering absolutely no Soviet guards, either through the team's stealth, or the guards' incompetence, they peep through their entry point.

A Soviet guard sits in the middle of the hallway, on one of the teachers' desks brought out from a classroom. His feet rest upon the desktop, his lips wrapped around a cigarette, the puff of smoke blinding him from the crack in the door.

"Keller, take him out." Keller nods, almost happily. He slowly sticks the nozzle of his silenced rifle into the structure, and with one shot, the bullet pierces through the man in between the eyes, killing him instantly, and letting the cigarette fall to the floor.

The team moves in quickly, slipping into one of the classrooms nearest to the entrance. They discover something…disturbing. The tortured body of an American pilot lies on the floor, his uniform resting on one of the children's desks nearby. O'Connor walks towards the man, looking at him with sad eyes.

"Poor bastard…" O'Connor moves towards the man's uniform, and sees a pad of paper, written in Russian, as well as the dog tags of the man. He looks at the name, seeing the body was an USAF pilot of the name of Michael McKinley.

"Sir," Grant reads the Soviet document. "They wrote down that he didn't say anything. They tortured him to death for probably no reason."

O'Connor nods, pocketing the tags in the hope that they might bring some comfort to the family. They slip out of that classroom, and move to the one across from it. As they open, they see two Soviet officers interrogating a captured Canadian one, probably from the Battle of the Line... Instantly O'Connor and Keller kill the two Soviet officers, not showing any mercy to the men like they did to the engineer. Beauchamp, seeing the condition of the Canadian officer, quickly moves to tend to the man's wounds, while Grant removes his restraints.

The Colonel, one rather famous for being on the front lines, stands up shakily to salute the men. "Thank you, but…there are more men here. Help them, alright?" He sits back down, exhausted and in pain. O'Connor nods and salutes the man, with his team doing the same. They check the other classrooms, seeing them all empty, until they arrive in a large storage closet, where the other prisoners were located.

The brightness surprises them, and they all wince from the light of the night sky. As they realize it's not a Soviet officer, they all smile and laugh, and a few cry in relief and happiness.

The ones that can move, probably the more recent prisoners, help the others up, as they slip into the hallway. "Help us with the Colonel, too, if you can." Keller asks the men who can still walk, and they nod. Two of the recently captured pilots, plus Grant and Beauchamp, carry the Colonel's chair, realizing how thin he's become from the abuse by the enemy. They make their way towards the row of houses that lead to the extraction. As they move, O'Connor sets up a timed explosive in the heater of the small structure, wanting to leave no trace of their actions.

As they reach the homes, the structures are filled with POWs and civilians, all wanting to escape into free territory. Groups move with Resistance members through abandoned city streets towards the waterfront, seeing the roads clear of Soviet patrols.

While the POWs, and the Resistance teams move towards their extraction point, Team S begins their operation, and any leftover guards take out the Soviet guards, and rush to secure the ship. Without the radio transmitter, the Soviet radio on the vessel is out of commission, and the freighter is secured.

Within ten minutes, the ship pulls out of the harbor. O'Connor and his teams looks out to see the still raging fires at the vehicle and fuel depot, watching at the Soviet personnel struggle to fight the fires. "We succeeded sir."

O'Connor turns to his men, and a gathering of military POWs and Resistance fighters. They almost start celebrating in glee of their accomplishment, and survival, but, instead, they look out on what's left of the town. The ship steams towards Victoria's harbor, with O'Connor looking out onto the sea, back towards the United States.


	4. Chapter 3: Digging In

Chapter 3: Digging In

Surrey, British Columbia, Canada

Lisa Hamilton leans against a wall, sighing softly. She and the rest of her fellow student volunteers keep on digging, demolishing, deploying, and constructing various defenses and fortifications, trying to prepare Surrey, and the rest of Vancouver's satellite cities and suburbs from the inevitable invasion. Her short, blonde hair sways with the cold, autumn wind, feeling the approaching winter.

"It kinda sucks, you know, that we don't get the snow the rest of Canada does. If we even got the snow of…I don't know, Toronto? Maybe we'd have an easier time with stopping the Soviets." One of her friends from the University of British Columbia looks at her, seeing her taking a break as she rests against a 7-11. Giovanni Cucimano smiles a bit, reflecting back on his experiences with his family. "Who would have thought that escaping my family would put me in the path for a Soviet invasion…"

He leans against the wall next to her, and she just nods in acknowledgement. "Yeah, you're from Montreal, right?" Lisa looks at him, before handing him a canteen of water.

"Yeah, I am. You're a local?" He takes the canteen, and takes a gulp of water.

She nods, as she takes her canteen back. "My dad's a sniper in the Forces, he's in Germany, last I heard of him. He used to treat me like the son he always wanted. Even took me hunting here and there."

"Ah, so you're going to be alone when the fighting starts?" Giovanni looks at her, and then at the rifle resting beside her. "I never realized these rifles were so big…" As he observes the rifle, the size, compared to Lisa, stands out the most.

"Yeah, they're pretty heavy too, but you get used to it. Plus it's not like I'll be shooting an assault rifle or shotgun like everyone else here. Did you get your assigned weapon yet?"

"Shotgun. They assigned me with a Mossberg 590A1 that they were able to bring up north from some US armory, because I also had practice hunting…though with my grandfather."

"I'm assuming you didn't hunt deer?" Lisa smiles as she take the canteen back, putting it back around her neck as she looks at the tall, bulky frame of Giovanni.

Giovanni just smiles, and shakes his head. "Nope, my grandfather liked rabbit. He even raised some Beagle dogs to help him."

"You actually ate them though, I hope." Lisa interrogates him, wanting to see what kind of hunter he is.

"Yeah, they tasted pretty good. Get some good turkey gravy and stuffing too, and you'd love it."

"Giovanni, can I ask something of you?" She smiles as she hears his answer, seeing him not much different from his father…well okay, at least with his hunting morality. Giovanni just nods as he waits for her answer, looking around to make sure they both don't get yelled at by the military engineer supervising them.

"I need an observer, and I think you'd make a good one." Giovanni just tilts his head, somewhat confused, before she explains further. "Snipers rarely work alone. Usually one shoots, and another looks for more targets, and watches out for any enemy snipers, or enemy soldiers wanting to ambush said sniper. I think, with your shotgun, and your hunting experience, you can be useful with watching my back."

He just thinks, looking at her, and wondering…why him? He ponders what being her observer really means. Bathroom, hygiene, medical incidents, food…everything will be in proximity with this girl he barely knows. Then again, better with a girl, than being stuck alone, when the Soviet army is pouring in. Could be worse, that's for sure.

"Alright, why not?" He extends his hand out, and she shakes it softly, smiling. "So, you think you're really ready to kill another human being…?" He asks her quietly, the anxiousness still getting to him from this whole situation.

"Well…no. But…I'm going to have to do it anyway…" She slowly stares at her feet, her mind still…flooding with thoughts. About her father in Europe, the Soviet invasion, and now her spotter. At least he's not some cowboy dumbass who'll be running into danger…

"Yeah…me too...if I have to."

The silence between them somewhat…disturbs both of them. The awkwardness of their situation and their thoughts bother them both. Most of the men and women ahead of them will be firing blindly, taking only basic aim at the enemy. Lisa will need to take cold, calculated shots, and she needs to make every bullet a kill.

"Hey! We're getting a signal!" One of the kids in the bar across the street yells out, attracting basically everyone inside, dropping their tools, and carefully placing their weapons down. Lisa and Giovanni look at each other, and they slowly take their time as they walk towards the bar. Lisa carries her rifle with her, the nozzle pointed to the ground. They both arrive last, with all of the seats and stools taken. Everybody late, including the newly formed sniper team, stands in a half circle facing the large TV hanging from the ceiling.

The picture is fuzzy, but the image is clear enough to make out for anyone to see. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation is beginning their evening news broadcast, and the still rookie Peter Mansbridge sits at the desk. Shuffling some papers around, he looks directly into the camera as he begins his first story.

"Tonight, on _The National…" _The image becomes fuzzy, and the soldier behind the bar starts fiddling with the antennae of the set, taking a minute of fiddling before the signal comes back. By then, the summary of the top stories finish, and Mansbridge begins his report.

"In the European theater, a joint Canadian-Danish operation has helped resupply and reinforce Hamburg, breaking through the Soviet blockade of ocean access to the Elbe River.

Immediately cheers and hurrahs break out within the bar, as video footage, although choppy, shows the combined fleets punching a hole through the blockade, allowing smaller supply vessels to speed into the river.

The image cuts back to Mansbridge, grabbing another sheet of paper, his eyes scanning it quickly, before going back to face the camera. "On the home front, Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, as well as the leader of the Official Opposition, Liberal MP John Turner, as well as numerous Conservative and Liberal Premiers, signed an agreement at 3:22 AM today to declare Martial Law. All cities with a population more than 50,000 are under curfew, and all non-authorized civilians must be off the streets by 9 o'clock tonight.

It shows the men all signing a legal paper of some sort, before the image switches to small frames of Toronto, Montreal, Winnipeg, Calgary, Halifax, and Ottawa, each showing soldiers, vehicles, and tanks being deployed within each city.

"This comes after numerous riots across some of the larger cities within Canada, including one in Halifax last week that stopped work at the city's main loading docks, delaying a convoy launch."

"Within fifteen minutes of the declaration of Martial Law, police and military units conducted raids across the country, including numerous offices of the New Democratic Party. Specifically, they were hunting for supporters of the _Waffle Resolution, _or a declaration of intent to introduce socialist views upon the nation. With that, it has been reported that the raids were a complete success."

Most of the former students just look at one another, thinking about how many could have been captured, and some wondered what will happen to them. Others were just smiling that these traitors were removed from affecting the war effort. Neither Lisa, nor Giovanni said a word, their eyes still focused on the screen.

"Related, the Prime Minister stated that he is still committed to leaving Canada as a volunteer military force to keep its strength. However, he continues to stress the need for more volunteers, as well as more productivity within the workplace. He states, and I quote: 'All of us must commit to winning this war, no matter what we do. A farmer in his fields, a worker along his factory line, a driver in his truck, or a sailor in his ship, we all must keep this war flowing together.'"

The screen flickers a bit, before showing another image, this time being a Soviet container ship. "On a positive note, numerous American civilians and POWs were rescued and brought to Victoria by a Canadian operation. Some were met by their families that escaped the Soviet invasion." Video of the meetings, embraces, and kisses flash upon the screen, making almost everyone smile.

"Even so, Soviet forces have been digging in within their occupied territory, stretching from White Rock, to Abbotsford, British Columbia. With that, thousands of brave, patriotic Canadians of all ages, creeds, and ethnic backgrounds are working night and day to prepare Vancouver for the inevitable Soviet invasion."

The television set loses its signal, and the military engineer orders us all back to work, but not before the kid behind the bar begins to pump rock music through the stereo's tape track.

"When do you think they'll come, Lisa?"

She sighs, looking at the sky, seeing the sky becoming cloudy. "Before Christmas."

Giovanni just smiles, and looks at her. "Then we'll have a bunch of presents to give them, won't we?"


	5. Chapter 4: The Crossing

Chapter 4: The Crossing

South Surrey, British Columbia, Canada

Captain Zhang's Leopard C2 tank is hidden under a raised section of King George Blvd, just before Surrey's city limit. Canadian and Free American forces have been making a defensive line along Colebrook Road. A few miles south, Soviet forces are preparing themselves, amassing enough close-air support and armor to cross the Serpentine River.

Four major bridge spans cross the Serpentine, leading towards Surrey and, more importantly, the third largest city in Canada. Although the air force proposed to bomb the bridges, the massive movement of refugees made it impossible without resulting in the deaths of hundreds and the trapping of who knows how many thousands of people. Once the bridges were clear of evacuating refugees, the Soviets had enough time to prepare anti-air defenses, making a bombing run risky.

Conrad Romney takes a drag on his cigarette, as he sits in the mud, with his back against one of the thick concrete pillars. The tank driver grumbles a bit, looking up at his superior officer. "So they were only able to take down the railroad bridge west of here?"

Charlie Zhang keeps his head below the wall of sandbags, wary of flying debris. The commander sighs in frustration, looking at his driver. "Yeah, though the air force promised to bomb the two smaller road bridges, including the one we're responsible for defending." Zhang looks up to bridge protecting them from falling Soviet artillery shells. "Even so, they have bridge deployment squads ready, so it'll only give us enough time to get our tank running and ready."

Thuds and booms of falling artillery shells numb the tank's crew hearing. Clumps of concrete and dirt fly over the sandbag wall. The gunner, Alex Terrier and the C2's loader, George Clarke, are competing with one another to see who can do the most pushups as during the barrage. After two minutes of numerous Soviet shells, American M270 and Canadian 105mm artillery begin their counter barrage against Soviet positions.

Conrad sticks his head above the sandbags, staring at a burning building complex. "Ah fuck, they hit the café." A Soviet white phosphorous shell begins to burn through the green roof of the café, and soon enough begins to gut the building. "Alright, well, no more coffee for us."

Thick black smoke darkens the orange sky, and the burning ruins of farms and homes are scattered all across the front. The burning café joins the many other columns of soot and smoke to block out the setting sun. The tank squad is numb to the devastation, growing accustomed to war on the home front.

Even with the Allied counter-barrage, the Soviet guns begin anew, and the thuds of falling artillery shells impact all along Colebrook Road. A few seconds after, a siren wails over the sound of impacting artillery. Captain Zhang realizes what's happening, and quickly gets his tank ready. "Come on you lazy assholes, we gotta get this tank ready!" The crew jumps into action, running into their designated position. Zhang himself climbs into the commander's seat, hearing the yelling of the recon units over their radio.

The distinct sound of MiG-27s fly low overhead, going past their hidden position, but by a stroke of bad luck, one of the Soviet artillery shells slam against one of the low flying MiGs, sending flaming metal debris raining down upon them. The crew barely even notices, as they start the loud diesel turbines of their C2.

Captain Zhang yells into the radio, trying to figure out if they blown the bridges yet. The chaotic sound of static mixed in with the thuds of impacting artillery shells and the sounds of explosions almost make it impossible for Zhang to hear the response.

"This is *static*. Soviet forces are crossing *static* across the *static* River. *Static*are en route, ETA one *Static*"

Zhang growls in annoyance, not knowing if the bombs are going to be dropped in a minute, or an hour, or whatever else. He slides himself into the commander's seat of his tank, hearing his Leopard finally beginning to move.

A massive boom occurs, and the concrete pillars of the overpass shudder and shake. Zhang's hearing goes out, and the ringing sound makes him temporarily deaf. Flaming chunks of cars rain down in front of them, and clumps of asphalt and concrete rain upon their heads. The tank begins to move forward, bringing themselves into the battle.

The tank's turret slowly rotates to the south, with the main chassis slowly catches up. A Soviet tank shell overshoots Zhang's Leopard, and the crew instinctively returns fire. Another shell slams into an abandoned GMC Safari, shredding the vehicle into scrap metal.

Zhang's hearing finally returns to him, and his crew begins to fully come to bear for what they need to do. Their sixty ton tank begins to move south, churning up mud and debris as they throw their lives and their expertise to keep the Soviet forces bottlenecked. Zhang uses the Leopard's sight to peer ahead at the opposition, seeing mostly light vehicles and infantry making their way across.

"They're sending cannon fodder against us right now; they want us to bring ourselves into range of their tanks." Zhang communicates to his crew, and Conrad Romney slows the tank's pace, keeping themselves out of range. Other tank commanders have expressed the same thought, and they all stop their movement south, just firing their 120mm cannon at those poor Soviet bastards being forced across.

Zhang continues to look through the sight, and with a loud shriek, the bridge is blasted apart by massive explosion. "Woo…" Chunks of concrete are tossed into the air, along with the wreckage of Soviet BMPs and infantry. The distant thuds and explosions tell Zhang that the other nearby bridge was blasted…even so…

A few cheers come through the radio, but Zhang isn't relieved yet. "Something isn't right…" Suddenly, a Soviet tank shell slams into a concrete pillar near their tank. "Fuck!"

Conrad Romney puts the tank into reverse, and then, the tank violently shakes, as its thick metal hull rings and shake. "We've been hit!" Clarke screams out, as the turret of their Leopard rotates to try to see what happened.

Zhang looks through the sight, seeing T-80s crossing a shallow part of the Serpentine River. A large number…at least a dozen, by Zhang's quick count, have made it across. It was a ruse, and those poor cannon fodder bastards were just a distraction for their tanks to flank ours. Zhang's radio screams with panicked tank crews under sudden attack, and Zhang's Leopard has another close call. "Fall back to Surrey, Conrad, we can't hold here."

The Leopard's treads tear the ground into mud, and begin moving north into Surrey. As they drive themselves as rapidly as possible while moving in reverse, the Leopard begins to return fire upon the encroaching T-80s, trying to keep them at bay, and score some kills. American Abrams and Canadian Leopards move back as fast as they can, slipping into the suburban neighborhoods and city streets of Surrey.

Zhang's C2 slips into the cover of the city as night befalls the front. The main battle tank drives into a prepared defensive position built within an abandoned Walmart. Romney carefully backs his tank into the structure, driving through what would have been its main entrance. The crew finally breathes a sigh of relief, but the Soviets took them all by surprise.

A radio officer stationed within the store comes up to Zhang, with a solemn look on his face. "Congrats on making it here." He says, though his voice surely hints that there is something more. "We lost ¼ of our heavy and medium tanks out there."

The news sinks in slowly to Zhang and his crew, realizing what a terrible, and useless sacrifice this all was. The bridges are gone, but nobody checked for areas where the tanks could have crossed safely. It was all pointless. Soviet forces are preparing to push into Surrey, and there's nothing they can do to change it.

The thuds and booms of falling artillery break Zhang's concentration. The dead can't be helped, and the war continues on.

Disclaimer: I do not own World in Conflict, nor do I own any corporations, buildings, or any other trademarked and/or copyrighted material mentioned.


End file.
